tion with him. He asked me, of what parentage I was? I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando ? Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides. Who comes here? Enter CORIN. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquir'd Cel. Well; and what of him? Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, Ros. I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Another Part of the Forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: Say that you love me not; but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that kills' and lives by bloody drops? I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, 1 dies in f. e. Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: The cicatrice and palpable' impressure Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. Sil. O! dear Phebe, If ever, (as that ever may be near) You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, That love's keen arrows make. Phe. But till that time Come not thou near me; and when that time comes Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not, As till that time I shall not pity thee. Ros. [Advancing.] And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, That you insult, exult, and all at once, Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty, Than without candle may go dark to bed, Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? That make the world full of ill-favour'd children. Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words.-Why look you so upon me? Phe. For no ill will I bear you. Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not.—If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by.— Will you go, sister?-Shepherd, ply her hard. Come, to our flock. [Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN. Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might; "Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight ?""1 Sil. Sweet Phebe ! Phe. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Were both extermin'd. Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly? Sil. I would have you. Phe. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was that I hated thee, 1 An allusion to Marlowe and his Hero and Leander, where the quotation is to be found. And yet it is not that I bear thee love; That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while? Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, That the old carlot once was master of. Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him. But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him. Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall. A little riper, and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek: 't was just the difference Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him In parcels, as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him; but for my part I love him not, nor hate him not, and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him; He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black; I marvel why I answer'd not again: But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head, and in my heart: [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and Jaques. Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. Ros. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so I do love it better than laughing. Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 't is good to be sad and say nothing. Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels; which by often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness. Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad. 1 fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. Enter ORLANDO. Ros. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad. And to travel for it too! Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind. 1 "in which my" is the reading of the 2d folio; adopted by Knight. |